


The First Night of the Rest of Their Deaths

by WotanAnubis



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book: Monstrous Regiment, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WotanAnubis/pseuds/WotanAnubis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mal and Polly take the final step in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Night of the Rest of Their Deaths

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this little fic has been drifting in and out of my imagination for years now. And now here it is at last.

Maladicta paced nervously up and down the ancient study, her ornate gown trailing behind her. She didn't really wear dresses any more, but tonight was a special night, so she'd dressed up. It had been exquisitely tailored, black lined with red silk, here and there decorated with black lace and precious stones. And, through some creative padding, the gown had even given Mal the kind of impressive cleavage she normally didn't have.

In short, it was a vampire dress.

Mal nervously emptied her cup of coffee and hurried over to the little, expensive oak table where five coffee makers were working hard to keep her supplied and only barely succeeding. Next to them stood a bottle filled with... with bl... a full bottle.

The problem was that Maladicta had forgotten she was a vampire. Or at least, had forgotten what kind of vampire she had been. Every vampire had their own little eccentricity. It wasn't just the... the red stuff they were obsessed with. There were vampires who insisted on playing the organ every time there was thunderstorm. Vampires who only ever drank from a very particular kind of person (usually very attractive young women or men in a very particular line of work - somehow no vampire had ever become obsessed with middle-aged accountants). And then, of course, there were those who liked bathing in the b- in the bl- in the you-know-what of virgins. Mal had only ever tried that once on a visit to Aunt Betty and had felt gross for months afterwards.

No, it had been Maladicta's unfortunate fate to obsessively fall in love with her intended target. Or at least, she liked to think it was love. Perhaps it had just been obsession.

Whenever Mal had felt the hunger within her rise, she desperately latched onto her intended. She plied her with gifts and affection, filled her ears with sweetly whispered temptations, became the very best friend a girl could possibly have while always suggesting she could also be the very best lover a girl could possibly have. And while she did, it was true, sometimes sit in her beloved's bedroom to watch her sleep, she always made sure to be invited to first.

It was a months-long dance of slow seduction and tiny sips, that, in the end, always resulted in death. Mal's death, not her intended's. Because there was always some handsome suitor or distinguished military veteran who figured out she was a vampire just before she bit her beloved for that one last time and cut her head off. And then, because Mal wasn't the type to leave a trail of bodies in her wake, her ashes were respectfully interred in the family crypt. And everybody lived happily ever after.

But Mal had left all of that behind her. She'd joined up with the League of Temperance and signed the Pledge and was now officially no longer interested in... in "wine". Unless it came from cows or other dumb animals, which was perfectly alright because, frankly, serving as food for a vampire was a much better fate for a cow than serving as food for a human.

Then Polly had entered her life and Mal hadn't noticed what had happened. She'd thought they'd been comrades, friends, superior officer and subordinate. And then one day she'd woken up in her bed and realised they were already right in the middle of that ancient dance.

Polly had no handsome suitors. None that she'd ever shown any interest in, anyway. Except for Maladict. And she herself was the distinguished military veteran, except that she didn't want to cut off Mal's head. So she hadn't.

And the dance had been danced to the end.

Mal paused in her nervous pacing to look out the high window. Just then, the dark clouds parted and the pale light of the full moon illuminated the study.

Behind the heavy wooden door, something growled.

The cup fell from Maladict's hand, spilled coffee spreading out across the priceless carpet. She grabbed the bottle and rushed towards the door and into the room beyond.

The creature on the bed wasn't Polly. It looked like her. It had her face, her hair, her body, but it wasn't her. It stood on all-fours and snarled, its eyes two pits of black hunger. Mal expected the creature to lunge, if not at her, then at least at the bottle, but it didn't. It watched her warily, hungrily. It should've attacked. It would've been easier if it had attacked. Not better, but easier.

Mal took a hesitant step forward. The creature on the bed hissed.

"Pol?" she said quietly. "I've got... I've got blood for you."

The creature stared at her. It gave no sign of understanding.

Mal slowly drifted closer to the bed. One quick pounce and the creature could pin her to the floor. It didn't. Then it could simply reach out and grab her by the throat. It didn't. And then Mal sat on the bed next to it.

"Drink. You'll feel better," Mal said, feeling stupid.

The creature looked at her, then the bottle. It crawled forward and drew its upper lip back. Its teeth were perfectly white and its canines were particularly long. It snatched the bottle from Mal's hand and drank. More than that, it guzzled. It was too thirsty, too mindless, to drink neatly and so a lot of the stuff poured in rivulets down its chin and stained its white gown red.

When the bottle was empty, the creature let it fall out of its hands. It blinked once, then twice, then was Polly again.

"Mal?" she asked. "How long was I... out?"

Mal lunged forward and pulled Polly into a hug, not caring that her own black gown was now also starting to stain red. Polly patted her reassuringly on the back.

"I'm fine," she said. "I told you I would be."

"You have no idea how..." Mal started. "Why did I let you talk me into this?"

"Because you love me," Polly replied. "Because I love you. Because I wanted you to. Take your pick."

Mal rested her forehead against Polly's. She took a deep breath just for the calming effect of then breathing out slowly. She looked up into Polly's eyes, then grinned.

"Right then," she said. "Let's talk about the perks of your new life."

Polly raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean the bat thing?"

"In time," Mal said. "But not right now."

Maladicta looked at the two large windows. They blew open with a sudden gust of unnatural wind. She grabbed Polly's wrist and dragged her outside. This particular bedroom happened to look out over a sheer cliff, but that was no problem at all. The two stood confidently on empty air.

"And this time," Mal said, "I don't even need to hold on to you to keep you afloat."

"Could be," Polly said. "But I'd like you to keep hold of me anyway."

They grinned at each other and danced in the moonlight. It was a new dance for both of them, full of uncertain steps and exciting mysteries. 

Mal wondered when this dance would end.

She hoped it never would.


End file.
